You know, whenever something fucking nasty happens to me I'm all over it. But this was so mind-blowingly hot, so perverted that I wouldn't have minded if I got caught and put into jail over it, that I wanted the words to be perfect, and if they weren't, well, I wouldn't dare to even start. But this shit happened more than nine months ago, during the late summer of 2013, so I think it's about time to finish writing, after about nine months of stopping, starting, daydreaming and reliving, about our tryst.
So there's ****e*, this grizzled veteran from My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) whom I've seen at parties getting a little more down with shit, right? The sign that she truly wanted to play was when I heard she was going to be at a party where my ATF, ***e*, is, and pee-pees are getting wanked everywhere. However, when I hit that party, which was along Eat Street, I saw that she was not there. When I was then told by ***e* that she came and left within minutes, I thought that maybe she in fact wasn't one to play and that she horribly misunderstood what kind of party this was.
I went back to My Favorites Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) one Saturday afternoon because they were holding a fundraiser for a bouncer there. On my way from finally finding a space to park my car I saw ****e* in her car talking to another of the old strippers who works there. Figured I'd be able to talk to her once I got in. But as I walked by her car she hollered at me.
Looking back, this is how those old, awesome Penthouse pictorials begin, don't they?
So I walk up to ****e*, who's smoking a cigarette while sitting in the driver's seat of her car, which she had on. The friend, who works as *****e*, excuses herself as goes inside. Then, ****e* gets right to the heart of what she probably knew I was thinking.
"If that's what you want, why don't you come to my house?"
"I don't know where you live," I said. So she proceeds to give me her address, which is actually on the toney parts west of the metro area.
While punching her address into my flip phone I tell her that discovering that she's down for doin' the dirty and giving me her address is making me all hot and bothered, and that my dick was getting so, so hard. Then and there she said the two magic words that sent me on what probably is the dirtiest, riskiest thing I've ever done:
"Get in."
With that I obliged ****e* and tossed myself, Spider-Man style, into the passenger seat. Now that I think about it I don't know if I had the right to think these impure thoughts, but it turns out she was thinking exactly what I was thinking. In fact, she looked at the bulge in my shorts and, while I fumbled my way through unbuckling, started to tease me by giving my rock-hard dick some quick squeezes. I was acting all coy -- "Stop, I'm not done yet!" I think I said -- but I kept my hands steady enough to pull down my shorts, revealing more exact contours of my erection, which she in turn touched as well. Then, because I was wearing my boy briefs instead of my usual boxers, I showed ****e* the result of her slutty revelation; I pulled down my underwear to expose, in the virtually full parking lot of My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), amid a weekend sunny day, my hard-on.
And as soon as I flashed myself, ****e* grabbed it and started yanking on it like she was trying to clear a drain. I probably have had better handjobs in my lifetime, but reliving my emotions of the, oh, three-to-five minutes I was in her car as she was jerking me off it feels like this one is far and away the best I've ever had. Her technique was honest -- no need for lotion or even her saliva, she just went at it, and me, hard, brutally mechanized, her hand a pumpin' piston choking the life out of my chicken. But honestly this was The Greatest Handjob In My Life because of the exhibitionist nature of what we were doing, and the danger. Remember that the parking lot was full because there was a special benefit going on. Although there were no more parking spaces, there definitely were going to be cars zooming back and forth assuming that there were. Any one of them could have glanced over and saw us looking down, or her looking down at my genitals while I was rolling my eyes heavenward. Shit, someone might have been able to find a spot and totally would've spotted her wanking me out while walking into the bar. I'm pretty sure, if I recall correctly, that one car did drive past while we doing our thing. If I got caught, it would be something I would totally regret for the rest of my life. But it's one of those things where, at that moment, you don't care. This is something totally taboo, and thus totally fucking satisfying.
The hot, humid day only added to the magic of the HJ. While she was rubbing me out and playing with my pubic hairs -- she said she wanted to braid them! -- the sun heated up her car through the rolled-up side windows. She had her sunroof open, and she had the air conditioning on, too, although it seemed it was not working then. While she was knobbing me off with one hand she was banging on the console with the other, trying to figure out why it was only blowing hot air. The humidity fazed me little; in fact it added to the delirium of the moment, and to what I was feeling, the oh-my-God-I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-to-me!!! ecstasy that's giving me a chubby just as I type this.
****e*, by the way, was gorgeous. Well, she was gorgeous partly because she was giving me a handjob in the middle of a parking lot pretty much out in the open. But she was wearing a black sundress, something feminine I had not seen her wear at all before, either on stage or after she was done with work. I should have reached down that dress to really crank at her tits, or even, if I were so bold, to reach up that dress and play with her twat, assuming she wasn't wearing any panties, which may not be the case. She did kiss me, though, simultaneously with her handjob. Ah, ****e*.
Unfortunately my hesitation started to creep into my mind. I was scared about splooging all over her cabin; she said she could wipe it up, but the toilet paper she had underneath the parking brake was only, like, eight squares long and it looked single-ply. Then my parsimony creeped into my mind; I certainly didn't go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) with the thought of getting a parking lot handjob. I only brought, like, twenty bucks with me to donate, and I didn't want ****e* pissed at me for making me cum all over her car and then only giving her twenty bucks. So despite my blueballs, I had to stop her and pay her that much only for her time masturbating me. She did not seem happy at all; in fact, she initially looked stunned, as if I was shortchanging her. But she did understand that I did not expect to have her do me like that when I went to the charity event. Also, at least she didn't, say, take out her gun and force me to get more money for her work (and by the way, she said she does own a gun). I went inside, scrounged up some more money to donate (though not as much as I planned) and after a short bit I saw her inside the bar and said goodbye to her (she was there most of the day cooking food for the event).
---
I was really, really sorry if I led ****e* on. More importantly, I wanted her to know that I don't mind paying top dollar if I could get what I want from her.
She was working a shift a couple weeks after. Once she got done we got to talking about That Time In Her Car. Pretty soon we got down to negotiating. This was outright pimpin', but ****e* said a couple of times, "Whatever, I don't give a fuck." Let's just say that she didn't completely discount outright fucking her without a condom.
But then my flip phone went to shit and erased the newest batch of numbers I added on to it, including ****e*'s. Shit! I knew I should've written it down in my day planner! In the meantime she's gotten scarce. I have only seen her a few times on the schedule at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), and I always come in at a time when she's already done. Another time we've missed each other was when I attended another stripper party where she was supposed to work. She had left early, and the other girls there said that a guy waiting outside for her picked her up. When that guy telephoned the house to ask for ****e*, he asked ********a, the host of the party, if she was a cop.
OK, so she's a whore by trade, and I would not be the first customer to get at her goods. So what? I'm approaching 40 and I'm still a virgin. If this vet wants to fuck me in the raw, that's fine, and I don't mind dipping into my savings account in order to do it. I'm that desperate.
One other thing to all this: I was told by this hostess, ********a, that ****e* has a chronic renal condition. It's possible that the reason I haven't seen her at all lately (these times when I miss her at the bar were some time ago) is that she may be taking time off, or that she's really sick. She has her number, but she hasn't given it to me because she respects her privacy. She did tell ****e* that I want her number, but she has yet to tell ********a that it's OK. So either I slipped her mind or, gulp, she's still mad at me for giving her only $20 for a handjob.
But oh, what a handjob! God, I need to see ****e* again, I love her!!!
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